


Whisky Burn Confessions

by Dolavine



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Come Eating, Drunken Confessions, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Uncut Derek Hale, Wolfed Out Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 01:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16337354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolavine/pseuds/Dolavine
Summary: Derek manages to do the impossible by getting drunk and admits to Stiles how he feels about him in the most awkward way possible.





	Whisky Burn Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Selecasharp for the amazing beta and cheering me on to keep writing my porn.

It’s raining and Derek is questioning his decision-making as he’s making his way through downtown Beacon Hills. He’s pretty sure that he has a purpose—a mission to accomplish—but he’s not sure why he couldn’t have driven across town when it’s raining like this. 

The rain is coming down harder, pelting his leather jacket; his always stylishly coifed hair is sagging with the weight of the water, but he’s almost there, almost to Stiles’s house.

He thinks about the fact that twenty minutes ago he was at home, dry and warm, but also feeling tortured and restless. He had to get out, get away and find some peace, think some things through.

What started out as a run through the woods, a mind clearing-freedom race before the rain started, has turned into standing in front of Stiles Stilinksi’s house.

The house is dark and Stiles’s jeep is not in the driveway. Derek sighs deeply; it’s a sound of defeat. Maybe it’s a sign, maybe he shouldn’t have come. He’s turning to leave but the rain picks up into a full storm, bleeding through the leather of his jacket; it pelts his face and runs down his nose, dripping off of his eyelashes as he looks up at Stiles’s bedroom window. _I’m not leaving until I see him._ he thinks as he climbs the trellis under the window. 

The window is unlocked so Derek climbs through it. Once inside Stiles’s room Derek sheds his jacket; he’s saturated to the bone and very chilled. He looks around for something to wipe off with and spots a towel thrown over the back of the computer chair. It’s covered in Stiles’s scent. He smells it for a second, breathing him in, before wiping his face and chest with it, covering himself in Stiles.

He’s still uncomfortable; his shirt soaked through as well, so he takes it off and looks through Stiles’s closet for something else to put on. He sifts through hoodies and ridiculous t-shirts and henleys. He pushes them all to the side and there it is—that awful striped polo shirt that Stiles made him wear when he called him his cousin Miguel. He can smell it from here; it hasn’t been washed and still has his own scent on it faintly, but also has the stronger scent of Stiles’s overlapping it. Derek smiles at the realization that he’s been wearing it too. He thinks about that for a second, what that means, and his heart beats a little faster. He can’t stop smiling as he pulls the shirt on over his head. It’s still as tight, but this time it feels good, like a snug blanket.

He’s been waiting awhile now; it’s making him restless, and so he starts to snoop around the room. He shuffles around opening drawers, sifting through papers on the desk, looking in boxes. He opens up a box shoved into the back of the closet and finds a bottle of whisky tucked inside of it. He chuckles. “Stiles, you little alcoholic,” he whispers before opening the bottle and taking a swig. He likes whisky even though it can’t do anything for him; the dark smoky taste and slight burn always makes him feel more alive. This whisky has a much heartier burn than any he has ever had before. He coughs slightly and clears his throat before taking another swallow. The burn lessens, but it still makes him cough again. “Smooth,” he rasps. 

He settles across Stiles’s bed; it smells like Stiles and ejaculation. Derek buries his face into Stiles’s pillow, breathing in deep and letting the scent go straight to his loins. “Mmmmmm.” It comes out as a growl. “God, you smell amazing,” he whispers into the cotton.

He takes a few more drinks from the bottle, a long swig and then another. He suddenly feels a warm fuzziness cascading over him as if he were dizzy. He’s never felt like this before and if he didn’t know better, he’d think that the whisky is affecting him. But that can’t possibly be it. He downs almost half of the bottle, his belly is feeling like it’s full of butterflies, and his head is light and dizzy. He wishes he could doze off, take a tiny nap, but Stiles will be home at some point and this can’t wait any longer.

The door swings open and the light switches on to reveal Stiles standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face. Derek jerks himself up and slides to the edge of the bed. “Stiles,” he says with slow slurred speech.

“Derek?” He shuts the door behind himself as he walks into the room. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Waiting for you,” Derek says, attempting to stand. He’s not sure what is happening to his body. 

“What’s wrong with you? You’re acting weird.” Stiles squints, examining Derek’s behavior. 

“Nothing.” Derek waves the whisky bottle at Stiles. “I am perfectly fine.” He stumbles slightly.

Stiles gasps, his jaw agape. _Derek is drunk_ he thinks. Stiles has been working on perfecting alcohol for Scott that would get him drunk, since werewolves can’t get drunk. He hasn’t had a chance to beta-test the wolfsbane whisky on a werewolf yet, but by Derek’s behavior, he’s pretty drunk. 

“You’ve been drinking my whisky,” Stiles says with a smirk.

“Yeah, I found your stash, you little alcoholic. I started without you, you’ve got some catching up to do.” Derek waves the bottle emphatically at Stiles.

“Sure,” Stiles takes the bottle and drinks from it. “Delicious,” he croaks out as the burn cuts its way down his throat. “So how long have you been here?”

“I don’t know, about an hour or more.” Derek takes the bottle back and takes a long swallow. It’s still burning as it goes down. He falls back across the bed again.

Stiles loves how Derek looks stretched out across his bed, legs splayed open in a relaxed bend. He notices the shirt Derek’s wearing then, the shirt that he hasn’t washed but sometimes wears when he jerks off to fantasies about Derek. He panics a little bit. “That shirt,” he says timidly.

Derek rubs his chest. “Oh yeah, I borrowed it, mine is soaking wet. Why haven’t you washed it since I wore it last?” He smiles wide as he plays with the collar.

“What?? I—I—I’ve washed it...” Stiles bites his lower lip nervously.

“Nope, smells like me and smells like you.” Derek points at Stiles before taking another drink.

“I—I—I…”

Derek sits up and takes another drink of the whisky. “Stiles.” He points at him again but this time he manages to stand up and take a step towards him. “You don’t even know, you have no idea how I’ve tried to fight this.” He pokes Stiles in the chest. “How many times I’ve beat-off to you.” He leans down into Stiles face. “How it started out as generic fantasies or pornography plots but always ended up as you.” He puts his palm on Stiles’s chest.

“I—I didn’t… I don’t—Me?” Stiles stammers at the words, the confession he could never have seen coming.

“No, you don’t. It’s always you in the end, the one I come to, the name I say. It’s this face.” He touches Stiles cheek with his knuckle. “This mouth.” He runs his thumb over Stiles’s pink lower lip. “It’s always this long-lanky-awkward…” He runs both hands over Stiles’s shoulders and down his upper arms. “Naked-awkward-skinny-sexy body that makes me come.” He takes the last swig of whisky before dropping the empty bottle onto the floor. He cradles Stiles’s head with his hands and then slowly leans down and kisses him.

Stiles is in shock at the way Derek is touching him and then they are kissing. All of this emotion and confessing and telling him that he is attracted to him, he doesn’t know quite how to handle everything, so he just goes with the flow. He returns Derek’s kiss, messy, wet, and hungry. He takes hold of Derek’s forearms and squeezes them tightly. “Oh God, never thought,” he mumbles against Derek’s mouth. His body is full of electricity; it is buzzing and on fire. His cock is stirring with the feel of Derek all over him.

Derek’s hand slides between them to cup and then grab Stiles’s dick; he isn’t fully hard yet so Derek pushes his palm into the growing erection. “Jesus, Stiles. We have to do something about this situation.” 

“You already are,” Stiles moans and grinds against Derek’s hard push. “You—you are everything…” He wanes off as he buries his face into the tiny slip of exposed chest peeking out of the open buttons of the polo shirt. He kisses the soft skin there as his nose nuzzles the dark line of curls. Stiles’s hands move down over Derek’s thin muscular flanks to rest on his hips. He’s grinding his cock into Derek’s hand. “Feels so good, Derek, so fucking good…”

Derek shifts his weight and turns Stiles so that he’s moving him towards the bed. “Need you on your back.” He lays Stiles down then stands over him, swaying a little bit as he looks him over. Seeing Stiles’s body sends Derek’s memory back to a fantasy where Stiles is naked, legs bent and splayed out like butterfly wings, inviting Derek between them. Derek’s cock is hard as a rock, pressing urgently against his fly. He huffs through his nose like a frustrated dog. “You should be naked,” he growls. His hands move hastily to undo his own jeans and shove them down with his boxers. They get caught on his boots and he snarls as he unsteadily tries to kick the boots off and then step out of his jeans and boxers. He manages to lose one sock in the process. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he grumbles. He’s missed the show of Stiles stripping down because when he looks over, Stiles is now naked, on his back again, with his hand wrapped around his hard-on. Derek loves the view. Growling happily, he starts to take Stiles’s shirt off. 

“No, wait, leave it on.” Stiles reaches up and takes the hem. “I want you to leave it on.” He licks his quivering lips, “When I jerk off you are always in this shirt.” He looks up at Derek through his long eyelashes as he seductively catches his lower lip between his teeth.

Derek blinks, the words settling in his alcohol-addled brain. “You fantasize about me?” Of course he knew that Stiles must because of the scents mingled on the unwashed shirt; he just wants to hear Stiles say it.

“Every time,” Stiles says with an impish smirk. He eyes Derek’s cock. “Uncut…” He licks his lips again at the sight.

“You don’t like it?” Derek starts to put his hand over it to cover it.

“No—no, I like it. In my fantasies you are always uncut and wearing this polo shirt.” He lets his hand trickle down to touch the head of Derek’s cock.

“Well then.” Derek smiles a toothy grin at that statement. “That’s good to know. And of course the shirt stays on.” He climbs onto the bed, unsteady as he pushes his knees between Stiles’s thighs. His heavy hard-on brushes over Stiles’s thigh as he settles into position. “Wanna watch you come,” he says as he puts his own hand over Stiles’s long fingers and eclipses them with his stronger grip. “Let me get you off,” he says breathlessly. “Show you how good I can make you feel.”

“Show me what I’m missing,” Stiles replies shakily. His other hand comes up to rest on Derek’s strong thigh.

“Then let me have control.” Derek moves his hand slowly over Stiles’s, his fingers feeling every bump as they move over Stiles’s hand and onto his stiff cock. “Get the lube out of the night stand,” he tells Stiles.

“How’d you know?” Stiles questions as he grabs for it, then opens it and puts a thin line along the shaft of his cock.

“I was here for over an hour waiting, you think I didn’t look through your drawers?” Derek laughs. His hand moves up to catch the cool lube and he twists his wrist to slick it over the entire shaft as he moves up to the head. 

“Ohhhh, Je-sus,” Stiles whimpers, his hips moving involuntarily as he tries to fuck Derek’s hand.

“Just relax,” Derek says, putting a hand on Stiles’s hip to hold him still as his hand starts to pump over the shaft. “I am going to make you so hot.” He pushes up against the underside of the head of Stiles’s cock, his thumb moving over the frenulum and then over the tip to pass over the slit and gather up the bead of precome gathered there. 

“Christ,” Stiles hisses, his hips trying to buck against the feeling. His hands grab Derek’s hips, digging into the cut. “Not sure…” he trails off.

“Relax…” Derek’s fist hits the base and moves back up again, this time encircling the head with his palm before pushing back down. The tight skin of Stiles’s dick is sliding with each strong pull of Derek’s hand. The soft bumps of veins tickle Derek’s palm when he loosens his grip to slip over the head; he tightens around it to squeeze the spongy tip as it leaks thick strings of precome, pulling with short quick pumps over the head.

“F-U-C-K!” Stiles moans loudly, his body arching off the bed with Derek’s manipulations. Stiles is tense, his whole body tight, his balls like hard orbs pulled tight against his body. Everything is tickling and tingling. He pulls his legs up and squeezes Derek’s hips even harder, his nails biting into the deep grooves, his heels planted into the mattress as his toes curl, gathering the blanket in them. “Gonna…” He can’t finish his sentences; his body is like a bow pulled tight to aim, and before he can say anything else Derek passes his thumb over the tip again, but pushes down a bit inside and smears the tender flesh. The extreme pleasure shoots the arrow and Stiles lets loose. His body convulses, his cock jerking as it starts spewing out thick strings come into the air.

“That’s it, Stiles, let it go.” Derek aims the stream towards Stiles’s chest and watches as strand after strand of pearly come paints his boy’s chest, belly, and abdomen. Derek’s untouched cock twitches with the sight. The scent fills his senses and he can’t hold his wolf back as he beta-shifts. He growls; his fangs gnash; his eyes glow red as his body betrays him, all control gone.

Stiles’s eyes are closed tight as wave after wave of release shoots out of him, Derek’s hand pumping him dry. He opens his eyes when he hears a growl only to see Derek has shifted into his wolf. He’s surprised and gasps; Derek’s glowing eyes meet his. “Damn,” Stiles exclaims softly, his body relaxing as he comes down from the high of such an intense orgasm.

Derek lets go when he sees Stiles’s expression and turns his head in shame. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry.” He wants to run away.

Stiles grabs Derek’s arms and sits up, holding Derek on the bed. He turns Derek’s face towards him and gently cups it. “No, I like it.” He runs his hands over the harsh bumps and thick stubble before kissing him. “I like everything about you. You’re beautiful to me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I lost control, how can you say that? I don’t lose control.”

Stiles grins and kisses Derek again. “Because, you’re drunk.”

Derek furrow his brow even farther, cocking his eyebrow and grimacing. “I can’t be drunk. I’m a werewolf, we don’t get drunk.”

“You do if you drink whisky laced with wolfsbane.” Stiles traces the thick lines of Derek’s forehead.

Derek pulls back and stares into Stiles’s eyes. “You gave me wolfsbane?!”

“No, you drank my whisky laced with wolfsbane. And it was just a tiny bit anyway, not enough to really hurt you. You’re fine, just drunk. You decided to snoop and it wasn’t for you anyway, it was for Scott. Scott asked me to find something to make him drunk so he could forget, so I was experimenting with different herbs in alcohol. I hadn’t tested it on a werewolf yet but you did that for me when you decided to drink it and subsequently got drunk. So thanks for testing it for me.” Stiles softly flicks the tip of Derek’s nose. “You’re so cute when you’re drunk.”

“But what if I had gotten sick?” Derek is still glaring but softening with the gentle touches.

“You didn’t. And if you had, I have an antidote and would have saved you.” He kisses a soft line along Derek’s jaw.

“So, I’m drunk… Huh, not sure if I like it.” He pulls Stiles’s mouth up and kisses it. “But I do like you.”

“Now let me make you come.” Stiles wraps his hand around the still raging hard-on between Derek’s thighs.

“What are you waiting for?” Derek squeezes a blob of lube over his cock and leans back on his heels so Stiles can have better access. 

“Don’t shift back; I want to watch you come, wanna see you come apart, just like this.” Stiles slides a hand up underneath the polo shirt to feel the hard six-pack of Derek’s abdomen as he starts to loosely caress over Derek’s hard cock, smearing the lube over it and using the foreskin to pump over the head. “You’re so hard.”

“You turn me on. You don’t even realize how crazy you make me feel, how confused I get around you.” Derek runs his hand through Stiles’s hair. “All I want to do is kiss you, touch you, and make you mine.” He pulls Stiles in and kisses him with a deep passionate desire, slipping his tongue between Stiles’s pursed lips, tangling their tongues, tasting him, teasing him.

“You drive me insane.” Stiles’s hand continues to work over Derek’s cock, dipping a finger inside of the foreskin to tickle the head, and tease the slit while smearing the precome over it. He’s pumping slowly, barely squeezing as he loosely moves up and down over the taut flesh.

Derek’s on edge, moving his hips and trying to get more friction, begging for something rougher. “God, Stiles, please—harder.”

“You want it harder?” Stiles speeds up and tightens his grip. His hand works faster as he pushes his other thumb inside of the foreskin and moves it up and over. He circles over the head, playing with the sweet slit. “Like that?” he asks seductively as he bites his lower lip.

“Ye—s,” Derek says on a hard exhale. His balls are tight, his gut hot and swirling as his orgasm builds. 

Stiles reaches down and plays with Derek’s tight smooth balls. He runs the pad of his index finger over the long ridge separating the two globes. “Mmmmm, nice,” he coos as he tickles over the swollen, tight, drawn-up orbs.

Derek’s claws dig into Stiles’s thighs as he thrusts upward and lets loose. “F—uck!”

“That’s it, come apart for me.” Stiles pulls faster, pushing Derek over the edge, watching him shoot thick and hot all over his hand and arm. 

“So good…” Derek starts to relax, his body going limp. He shifts out of his wolf as he falls forward onto Stiles. 

Stiles falls backward, letting the heavy weight of Derek fall across him. Stiles’s sticky hand is pinned against his chest. He wants to know what Derek tastes like so he wiggles it free and tenderly licks two of his fingers clean. He loves the taste; it’s a salty-tangy-musk. “You taste so good,” he says as he finishes licking his hand clean.

They shift positions, making Stiles the little spoon so that Derek is completely wrapped around him. They bask in the sweet afterglow of their orgasms. Derek’s senses are full of their release and he likes it.

“Can I ask you a question, Stiles?”

“Anything.” He pushes back into Derek’s body.

“How often do you wear this shirt when you are masturbating?”

“Not that often, but you’re always wearing it when you come to me in my fantasies, Miguel,” Stiles laughs.

“So I guess that makes us kissing cousins?” Derek snickers.

“Whatever trips your trigger, Wolfie.” Stiles reaches back and rubs Derek’s leg.

“Wolfie?” Derek smiles at the nickname. “Okay, my special unicorn.” He holds Stiles closer and kisses the back of his neck.

“I can live with that.” Stiles nestles in contentedly.

The End.


End file.
